


Books With Belle

by ZionAngel



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-01
Updated: 2013-12-01
Packaged: 2018-01-03 03:04:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1064996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZionAngel/pseuds/ZionAngel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mr. Gold has always hated Good Morning Storybrooke, the insipid local morning show.  But when a new segment is introduced featuring the lovely local librarian, he may just change his mind.  (Non-magical AU)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Bae had always liked watching Good Morning Storybrooke.  More than once, Gold wondered if was because being his son, he was a bit of an outcast, feared and shunned by association, not as connected to the rest of the town as he could be.  Perhaps this morning show was his son’s way of feeling connected to the rest of the town.  In any case, since he was little, he would rather watch this insipid, boring, trite show before school instead of cartoons.  He seemed to know all the hosts as if they were his friends, and that only further convinced Gold that his boy liked it because he had few other options.

So, for years Gold has sat through this terrible show while he got Bae ready in the morning and made him breakfast and saw him off to school, and never said a word, no matter how much he hated it.  The thought had occurred to him more than once to raise the rent on the studio to egregious proportions so that it would be shut down, but while it might make Gold’s mornings a little more pleasant, it wouldn’t exactly help Bae.

Recently, someone on the show seemed to realize just what an abysmal program they put on, and had been trying to spice things up with a new host, new format, and new segments.  In Gold’s opinion, they were not particularly succeeding.

He was slicing up a banana for the cereal when the host – the new one whose overly-cheery voice made him want to kick puppies or wring somebody’s neck – piped in to announce a new segment.  “Up next we have a brand new segment here on Good Morning Storybrooke, Books with Belle, featuring thought-provoking book reviews from our very own town librarian, Belle French!  We’ll have that and more right after the break.”

Gold rather thought a boring book review was just one more nail in the coffin.  Although he appreciated good literature, he hardly thought shallow commentary on the latest formulaic best-seller from some stuffy old librarian would help the show’s appeal.  Nonetheless, by the time he sat down at the table with Bae, his son with his orange juice and Gold with his coffee, both with a bowl of Cheerios with bananas in front of them, he had all but forgotten about the new segment.

“Good morning, Storybrooke.”  The melodic, sweet voice all but startled him, and he turned in his seat to see who it belonged to.  A lovely young brunette with a gentle, mischievous smile peeked up over a book, and when she lowered it to reveal her face, she stared straight at him with big, bright eyes.  “My name is Belle French, and I run the Storybrooke Free Public Library.  I’m so happy to be joining everyone here at Good Morning Storybrooke!”

“And we’re happy to have you here too, Belle,” Goldie welcomed.  “I hear you’ve chosen your favorite story for the very first Books with Belle.”

She giggled softly at that, glancing down and brushing a few strands of hair behind her ear.  Gold had the most absurd desire to reach through the screen and tuck her hair back himself.  “Well, I don’t think I could ever choose just _one_ favorite book, but this one is certainly up there.”  She held up an old leather-bound copy of Anna Karenina, holding it carefully, gently, like an old friend or a lover.

She spoke of the book with such intelligence and insight, yet somehow he suspected it would still sound fascinating to the countless simpletons in Storybrooke.  But all too soon, Goldie was talking again and Belle was saying goodbye, waving at him with that sweet, beautiful smile, and then she was gone, and Gold immediately felt the heavy weight of loss.

Finally, with a silly lesson on horticulture taking over the screen, he slowly turned back around in his seat, facing a bowl of soggy cereal, a sense of wonder and abject loss fighting for dominance within him.

When he looked up, Bae was staring at him like he’d grown two heads, chewing his cereal very, very slowly.  Gold quickly looked back to his own bowl, stirring the cereal a little too vigorously and trying to pretend the last five minutes never happened.


	2. Chapter 2

His Baelfire was a bright young lad, there was no denying that.  He did well in school and his teachers always left approving comments in the margins of his report card, so he knew it was not just a father’s pride distorting his perception.  Still, he had long squeaked by with a passing grade in reading.  When he asked, the best Gold could determine was that his son found the books too boring to hold his interest for long.

It hadn’t taken long for him to realize this presented a perfect opportunity to visit the library, perhaps ask a bit of expert advice from the pretty librarian who smiled her way onto the set of Good Morning Storybrooke several times a week.  After all, the library was just a few short blocks away from Gold’s shop – he could see the clock tower from the shop doorway.  He would make the short trip, but he had just been terribly busy at the shop of late, dealing with new inventory, cataloguing antiques that had been lying around since forever, and dealing with all the financial responsibilities that came with being the landlord for half the town.  He hadn’t had a spare moment to visit the library.

At least, that was what he told himself in the weeks since Books With Belle began airing.

Shortly after noon on Wednesday, he realized that he’d forgotten his lunch, the paper bag probably still sitting on the kitchen table where he helped Bae stuff the materials for his science project into his backpack.  He sighed in annoyance, not wanting to waste time on this.  A moments’ thought told him the food he prepared was no doubt stale and unpleasant by now, and it seemed less time consuming to make the short walk to Granny’s Diner than to drive all the way back home and make something new.  He grudgingly admitted his leg could use a bit of extra exercise, anyway.

Ruby looked relaxed when he walked in, but took on the same awkward, nervous demeanor she had in that awful commercial the moment she spotted him.  He ordered a tomato mozzarella sandwich, declining Ruby’s offer to sit while he waited.  On the rare occasion that he came to the diner, he always found that standing where the cooks and wait staff could see him ensured that he would get his food and be able to leave much sooner.

“Hello there!”  Gold would know that voice absolutely anywhere, and he turned, half expecting to find a TV he hadn’t noticed before, and instead he found himself staring straight into startling blue eyes that he would gladly drown in.

Belle French squeezed in beside him at the counter, and she glanced up and smiled at him – really, truly _smiled_ at _him_ , and he didn’t have to pretend that her gaze at the camera lens was something more.

“Hi Ruby, is my burger ready?” she asked easily, like she wasn’t luring him in like gravity.  “Is it too late to add an extra slice of cheese?”

Gold stared at her as she stood beside him, until her flowery scent reached him and snapped him back to reality.  He stared ahead at the wall – or tried to – as she chatted with Ruby.  Too soon, the other girl was bringing out a bag and handing it over, and then Belle was saying goodbye and turning towards the door.  He barely noticed Ruby trying to explain to him that Belle called her order in ahead of time as he hurried after her, a rare surge of courage flowing through him.  He caught up with her in the middle of the patio.

“Belle!” he called without thinking, and she jumped and turned to him.  He faltered in his tracks, realizing he had no idea what to say next, and no idea how to interact with her.  “Uh, Miss French.”  He fluttered his hands about, not sure what to do, and eventually placed them on his cane, wishing he wasn’t an old cripple.

“I’m Adrian Gold, I…”  What?  Ran the pawnshop?  Owned half the town?  Would happily kneel at her feet forever if she would just let him be with her?  “I’ve… seen you on Good Morning Storybrooke.”

“Well it’s very nice to meet you Mr. Gold,” she said, holding out her hand, and it took an absurdly long pause before he realized she actually wanted to shake his hand.  “It’s so strange, having fans and people who know me.  I feel like a celebrity.  But I’m glad you like it.”

Her hand dropped from his, and his fingers ran cold with the loss.  “I… my son watches the show.  But, I enjoy your book reviews, so…”  He trailed off, feeling like a foolish schoolboy.

“Is there something else I can do for you?” she asked sweetly, innocently, and Gold struggled to keep his mind focused.  He remembered the excuse he had kept tucked in the back of his mind for weeks now, gratefully clutching at it.

“Well it’s about my son, you see.  Baelfire, is his name.  He’s in the eighth grade.”  She nodded encouragingly, and he realized he was going to have to give her more information than that.  “He’s smart, and he does well in most of his classes, but his reading grades are quite a bit lower than the rest.”  Talking about Bae relaxed him a bit, gave him something to focus on that wasn’t her bright eyes or the delicate curve of her lips.  “I think the books are boring him, but he’s having a hard time finding something that interests him.  I was hoping you could… provide some insight.”

“Oh!” she exclaimed, her smile making him want to fall into her embrace.  “Of course!  I’d be happy to help.  The library’s just over there,” she said, pointing across the street as if he didn’t own half the buildings in town.  “I’m there from 10:00 to 7:00, Tuesday through Saturday, so if your son wants to come in after school one afternoon he should be able to find me.”

“Oh,” he said, tripping over his tongue a bit as he searched for an excuse to join his son.  “Well, Bae is a bit shy, actually, around people he doesn’t know, so I thought I might come in with him.”

She smiled again, and did this woman ever _not_ radiate kind happiness?  “However you like is fine.  Well, I do have to be getting back, but it was very nice meeting you, and I hope to see you and Bae sometime soon.”  And just like that she was turning away, her smile tugging at his heart as she walked away from him.  He wanted nothing in the world more than to follow her, stay in her presence and bask in her kindness just a few moments longer.

When she was halfway across the street, she turned to wave goodbye, and Gold felt the corner of his lip turn up.


	3. Chapter 3

Gold had worried that Bae would be reluctant to go to the library, that he would have to be persuaded and might become suspicious about his father’s real motives for taking him there.  Had he simply remembered how much his son enjoyed Good Morning Storybrooke, he would have realized what a foolish concern that was.

On Friday, Mr. Gold closes the shop early and picks up his son from school, and they return to Main Street to visit the library.  During the ride, Bae goes on and on, talking about all the questions he’d like to ask Belle, and how excited he is to meet someone from the show.  Gold can’t help but smile and relax a little, his son’s enthusiasm contagious.

Even so, when they park the car along the street and make their way to the front door, his heart speeds up and his chest grows tight with anxiety.  He would like very much to simply turn around, get back in the car, and spend the rest of his days staring at the television screen and pining for the pretty librarian from the safety of the breakfast table.  But Bae is here, tugging him along eagerly, and so he continues on.

When they enter the library, with its cozy atmosphere and faint smell of old books, and Belle looks up from helping a young girl check out a book to smile at him, he is very, very glad his fear did not get the better of them.

As they stand at a respectable distance, waiting for her to finish, he feels Bae all but bouncing beside him, a half-concealed smile on his face as he struggles to remember his manners and not simply race over to Belle.  The moment the girl scoops up her books and says thank you, though, he dashes over to the circulation counter, crashing into it when he can’t quite slow down enough, babbling excited nonsense.

“You must be Bae,” she says with a laugh, and his son’s jaw goes slack at the realization that she knows his name.  Despite his nerves, Gold can’t help but laugh quietly.  His son is acting like a three-year-old meeting Santa Clause, not a fourteen-year-old meeting a minor – if very captivating – local celebrity.  “Your dad said I might be seeing you two around here.”  She looks up at him, meets his eyes, and smiles.  Like she’s happy to see him.

Bae finds his tongue again, and starts in on his list of a thousand questions.  She keeps smiling, indulging him, answering each question as best she can.  She lets him follow her as she pushes a book cart out of the front lobby and into the main library, only putting a finger to her lips to tell him to ask his questions in a whisper.  Gold follows a few paces behind them, admiring what a pair they make.  She indulges the boy completely, genuinely happy to talk with him, and though they’ve only known each other a few minutes, they get along like she’s known him since he was a toddler.  For those few brief moments as he watches them from afar, he lets himself pretend that they’re a family.

He knows he shouldn’t – the idea already makes his heart ache, and he knows that longing will only deepen later, when he’s lying in his lonely bed.  But here, and now, in these few brief moments, it’s such a beautiful little fantasy that he can’t help himself.

After a bit, when Bae seems to have exhausted himself with questions, she starts to direct the conversation, and asks him what books he likes to read.  She weaves it into the conversation so casually that it takes a moment for him to remember that’s why they came here in the first place.

“Oh, I don’t really like reading,” Bae murmurs, like he’s ashamed to admit such a thing to his idol.

“ _Everybody_ likes reading.”

“The books are just so boring…”  He stares at his shoes, kicking a little dust bunny on the floor.

“Well, what do you like?”

“I dunno,” he shrugs.  “Not something boring and slow like at school.”

They continue around one of the book shelves, Belle carrying the last few books that need to be replaced in her arms.  In a few steps, they are out of earshot, and Gold takes the moment of solitude to compose himself.  They’re just visiting, he tells himself.  They’re just checking out a book and then they’ll be on their way.  She’s not his wife.  She’s not Bae’s mother.  She doesn’t – won’t ever – love him.

That thought gives him pause, and he leans against the end of a shelf.  Is that really what he feels for her?  Love?  Surely he can’t – he’s only met her twice for bare minutes at a time, and seen her through a TV screen only a handful more.  He can’t possibly be in love with her.  He can’t possibly be that far gone.

She startles him as she reappears at his side, a mischievous little secret smile on her rosy lips, a smile just for him, and his heart flutters.  Then again, perhaps he really is that far gone.

“Where’s Bae?” he whispers.  She jerks her head off behind her, and he follows her past two more rows to peek around a shelf.  He sees his son sitting on one of the worn couches, a book open in his hands.

“You got him reading already?” he marvels.  She nods, and the retreat behind the shelf again.

“ _Hatchet_ by Gary Paulsen.  I have literally never met a teenage boy who didn’t love it.  I made a deal with him: if he read it for ten minutes and didn’t like it, I would owe him ice cream.”

A deal.  Perhaps he is even more doomed than he first thought.

“The trick is to start by just convincing them that reading _can_ be fun, and go from there.  If they have a few bad experiences in school, it can really color their perception.  Once you get beyond that, it’s fairly easy.”

“Thank you,” he murmurs, meaning it to the bottom of his heart.  Infatuation aside, he was genuinely concerned about his son’s poor grades in reading, and he wanted him to be able to experience the love of a good book, as Gold did.  He grins at her – as much as he can, anyway, a little curve at the side of his mouth – and she smiles that radiant smile again, and he feels very much like a lost puppy, pleading with the kind lady to take him in.

“And what are we going to pick out for you today, Mr. Gold?”

“Adrian, please,” he says, suddenly longing to hear his given name on her lips.  When her question registers, he clears his throat, feeling awkward.  “But I, uh, really just came to find something for Bae.”

She tilts her head, pursing her lips and squinting at him as though he is being very silly.  “You said you watch my segment all the time.  And I know an avid reader when I see one, Adrian.  Perhaps I could introduce you to something new.”

It’s absurd, really, how easily just having her say his name turns him into putty.  The next thing he knows, she’s taking his hand and pulling him toward another part of the library, and even though she lets go after just a few steps, he is hopeless to follow.

He knows then that he is well and truly screwed.


	4. Chapter 4

Gold pads through the kitchen in his striped socks and softest knit sweater on Sunday afternoon, pulling together ingredients for Bae’s favorite lasagna dinner.  Normally his son isn’t terribly picky about their meals, but tonight he requested his favorite, and Gold is happy to indulge his boy.

“Can we have garlic bread too?” Bae asks, pulling out pots and pans.

“Of course.  Can’t have lasagna without garlic bread.”

“And that zucchini and squash thing you made last time?”

“If you like.  I think we should have enough of both left.”

“And cheese and veggies?”

Gold frowns at him over the door of the fridge.  “That’s an awful lot of food for just the two of us, don’t you think?”

Bae shrugs rather noncommittally.  “We’ll have leftovers.”

“Well, all right, we can make that too if you’d like.”  His son generally isn’t fond of leftovers, but he can hardly fault a growing boy for wanting a big meal.  He’s probably headed into another growth spurt.

They spend the next hour or so in the kitchen, cooking and talking about the latest book Bae picked out on their weekly trip to the library.  Barely a month after their first visit, and his son is staying up late at night to finish chapters.  His newfound love of books is already beginning to show in his grades, and Gold can’t help but be filled with pride.

Once he puts the garlic bread in the oven, Bae suddenly excuses himself and heads up to his room.  After a few minutes he comes back downstairs, and it takes Gold a second to realize what’s different about him.  “Did you change your shirt?”

 “My, um, other shirt was getting itchy.”

“Did you comb your hair?”  At that, Bae just shrugs, avoiding eye contact and overall projecting the image of a deer in headlights.  “Are you all right?” he asks, perplexed.

They stare at one another for several long seconds, until the doorbell rings.  Bae stares at the door, then says loudly, “I’m fine!” before darting in the opposite direction.

He is so baffled by his son’s behavior that it takes him a minute to start moving towards the door.  When he does, he slips into his usual persona, ready to tell of whoever has the gall to come to his house on a Sunday evening and interrupt his time with his son.  He unlocks the door, prepared to level all manner of threats to ensure whoever it is knows not to trespass on his sanctuary again, and opens the door.

The woman on the porch is turned away from him, staring at the landscaping in the front yard.  He recognizes the soft brunette hair before anything else, but he doesn’t dare hope.  Hearing the creak of the door, the woman turns around, and he realizes that he must be dreaming, because Belle French is standing on his porch and smiling beautifully at him.

“Hello, Adrian,” she says brightly.  “I hope I’m not late.  I brought cookies for everybody and wine for you and me.”  She holds up a tupperware box in one hand, and a bottle in the other.

Gold can only stare at her as pieces of information start to fit themselves together in his mind.  This isn’t quite how he would expect a dream about Belle to go, and he was pretty damn sure he was awake a minute ago.  She holds his gaze fearlessly, and he feels an irrational pang of sadness as her smile gradually falls.

“Bae didn’t ask you,” she says, cringing as her face flushes.  Suddenly everything clicks, and he trips over his own tongue as he tries to speak over her protests.  “Oh, God, I’m so sorry, he invited me to dinner, he said it was your idea –”  Then she’s shoving her purse back up onto her shoulder and backing away toward the street.  “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude, I’ll just get out of your hair –”

He only manages to move when her foot hits the front step, and he sees his one glorious, wonderful chance slipping away forever.  He darts forward, grabbing her arm with his free hand.  “Don’t go,” he blurts out, hoping he doesn’t sound like he’s begging.  He loosens his grip on her arm but doesn’t let go, looking back at the door and trying to regain some sense of himself.  “I… the food is halfway done already, and there’s plenty for three people.  And you’ve already come all this way, and… it might be nice to have a guest for a change.”  He huffs a humorless laugh, praying.

She stares at him with those big eyes and bites her lip in contemplation, and he has to fight back a groan.  “You’re sure I’m not imposing?”

“Not at all.”

She chews at her lip a bit more as she glances past him into the house, and he’s not sure if his knees are going to give out from the innocently sensuous action, or if his heart is going to give out from anticipation.

“Well… if you really don’t mind, I’ll stay.”  Gold lets out a desperate sigh of relief.  “But don’t feel like you have to let me stay late.”

He grins a little, stepping aside to let her in.  His hand feels cold from the loss of contact.

Inside, Belle pauses in the middle of the entryway, wide eyes taking in every object with a look of wonder.  He can’t help but wish she’d look at him like that.  “The dining room is right through here,” he says, smiling as best he can as he leads the way.

Bae re-emerges from the next room, and Gold shoots him a dangerous, warning look.  He ignores the look completely and smiles brightly at their guest.  “Hi, Belle!”

“Hello, Baelfire,” she smiles, quickly turning stern.  “You told me your father wanted me to come over for dinner.”

He shrugs, unfazed.  “Well obviously he does, otherwise he wouldn’t have let you in.”

Gold is going to kill his son.  Or, at the very least, ground him for the next three centuries or so.  But then Belle glances at him as she heads to the kitchen, smiling and rolling her eyes.  Perhaps he should triple the boy’s allowance instead.  He’ll think about it.

… …

Despite being caught completely off-guard and having no time to prepare – or perhaps because of it – the evening goes well.  Belle helps Bae set the table, and she even convinces Gold to let the boy have half a cookie before dinner.  Gold discovers that she has impeccable taste in wine.  Although she and Bae carry the bulk of the conversation, Gold joins in regularly.  He even gets to talk to Belle directly about more adult topics a few times.  She compliments his cooking so frequently and enthusiastically that he can’t help but believe she means it.  When the meal is done, they all share in the chocolate chip cookies she brought.

For a while – just a little bit – he lets himself pretend that this is real, that they share dinner and companionship like this every night.  That afterward, when Bae is tucked up in bed, they curl up together on the couch, reading or watching TV in comfortable silence.  That when he heads up to bed for the night, she comes with him.

Eventually the evening wears on, and Bae excuses himself to finish up some homework.  Given their arrangement that homework is to be completed on the evening it is assigned, and anything he might actually be doing should have been done on Friday afternoon, Gold thinks he might opt for grounding his son after all.

Left alone with Belle, his mouth quickly dries up, and he fidgets with the corner of his napkin, looking anywhere but at her face.  “Do you… want some more wine?”

She shakes her head with a little smile.  “No thanks, I’m fine.”

“All right then.”  He stands a little too suddenly, and starts piling their empty plates together.  “I should get this cleaned up.”  He carries the dishes into the kitchen, and has to balance them against his body to keep his quivering hand from dropping them to the floor.  He turns on the water and rolls up his sleeves, grateful for a distraction, for something to do with his hands.  He’s just sponging down the first plate when Belle suddenly reappears at his side, carefully balancing their glasses and the lasagna dish.  He can’t help his slight jump.

“I’m sorry.  Did I startle you?”

He shakes his head and stares back at the sink.  He flutters his hands a bit, trying to think of something to say, and find the nerve to say it.  He was just talking to her a few minutes ago – how can it be so much harder now that they’re alone?

“I just…” he begins slowly, “I don’t have guests over very often.  _Ever_ , really.”

She empties their glasses, and scrapes the last bits of lasagna into the garbage.  “Well, do you ever go to other people’s houses?”

“No, not really.”  He admits, feeling somehow ashamed of that fact.

“Why not?  You seemed to enjoy tonight.”  She leans against the counter beside him.

“Well, it’s… hard to find the time for things like that between taking care of Bae, and the shop, and being a landlord, so…”

“Well surely you must be able to find a _little_ bit of time here and there.”  She seems sad to hear his admission.  “You’ve come to the library every Friday for the last month.  Don’t you ever just… have lunch with a good friend?  Date?”

His heart is racing, and he feels like an idiot, and what the hell is he supposed to say to that?  How is he supposed to tell this wonderful, kind, sweet woman that he’s nothing but a beast deep down?  “Well, people aren’t exactly lining up to be in the company of the town terror, are they?” he asks bitterly.

He can’t quite bring himself to look at her, but out of the corner of his eye, her eyes seem to be some mix of sympathetic and mildly impatient.

“ _I_ think you’re lonely,” she declares, as if she were telling him that the sky is blue.  As if she can peer into his soul and sees fit to tell him what she sees there.  “And you’re so afraid of getting hurt that you would rather hide in your little cave and let everyone think you’re a monster instead of taking a chance at real happiness.”

Her brazenness surprises him, and he fumbles for words for a moment.  “Well… so what if I am?” he barks defensively.  “I hardly enjoy being betrayed and having to deal with that kind of pain.”  The words are out of his mouth before he realizes that he’s said too much, that the conversation hadn’t gotten that specific.  He scrubs the silverware frantically, almost impaling his hand on a fork a few times.

“No one does,” she murmurs softly, and god help him, she rests a hand on his arm.  “But sometimes the risk is worth it.”

He lets his hands slow, but still keeps his attention focused strictly on the lasagna pan in front of him.  “The last time I let someone in the pain certainly wasn’t worth it.”  He doesn’t say the word or the name specifically, but she’s no fool.  He’s sure she can read between the lines.

She’s quiet for a long time, watching as he scrubs the pan clean.  “Was the pain worth Bae?”

He doesn’t respond.  He’s sure she knows that answer, too.

“You have to risk great pain in order to experience great joy,” she murmurs in a soft, gentle voice.  “Sometimes you get both.  Sometimes you only get the pain.  But sometimes you get lucky and it’s just the joy.”

He finally finds the courage to look up at her.  She stands close, smiling at him in a wonderfully sweet, gentle – intimate – way.  It has been a very long time since he felt so close to someone like this.  He doesn’t dare to hope she may be saying what he thinks she’s saying.  She brushes her hand against his arm again, squeezing ever so gently.  Then she steps away, and gives him his space.

She brings the last few things over from the dinner table, helps him finish cleaning up in silence.  He feels a bit awkward, but not quite so much as before.  When they finish, she looks up at the clock.

“Well, I promised I wouldn’t stay too late, so I think I should go.”

“Okay.  I’ll uh… I’ll walk you out.”

He walks her to the door, desperately trying to work up the courage to say something, _anything_ meaningful, anything that will let her know how much he enjoys her company, how much he longs for more of it, how much he longs for _her_ even if he can’t find a way to say it in so many words –

But then they’ve reached the door, and she’s turning to smile at him.  “Thank you for dinner, Adrian.  It was lovely.”

“Thank you for coming.  I’ll… see you at the library,” he says weakly.  Some little voice in the back of his mind screams at him to say more, and he hates himself for his inability to do so.

She smiles, and he loves the way it makes the corners of her eyes and nose wrinkle.  “Maybe I’ll bring you lunch sometime.  You can try out a little of that normal social interaction.”

He laughs a little at her teasing tone.  “Okay.”

“Good night, Adrian,” she smiles, and reaches for the door.

“Good night, Belle.”

She slips out the door, her heels clicking against the wood of the porch and steps.  Once she’s off the stairs, she turns and waves, still smiling that sweet, beautiful, heart-wrenching smile.  He waves back, and slowly shuts the door.  Once he turns the lock, he leans his forehead against the wood and lets out a deep, heavy sigh.


	5. Chapter 5

Gold stands alone in his shop on a rainy Monday, lost in thought and memory.  He feels completely off-kilter, hopeful and happy and lovestruck and sorrowful and so many other things.  He is still reeling from Belle’s unexpected visit for dinner last night.

He is glad for the rain – no one ever comes into the shop with weather like this, leaving him in peace with his thoughts.  Like this, he is free to reminisce, and pretend that it was all real, that they were a family and she was his.

He still doesn’t know what to make of it all, the way she smiled easily at him, spoke with him, happily spent time alone with him after Bae went upstairs, how she seemed to peer right down into his soul, how she brushed her fingers against his arm and seemed to be offering…

He shakes his head and continues his way around the shop, absently dusting trinkets that don’t need it.  He should know better than this, know better than to get his hopes up and think that someone like her could ever want more from someone like him.  But still, as much as he tells himself not to, his mind keeps returning to the memory of her sweet smile and gentle touch…

He has his book with him, the one he borrowed from the library on their most recent weekly visit.  An idea strikes him, at once frightening and patently obvious.  He was set to finish the book by Friday morning, as has become his routine, and exchange it for another when he visits the library with Bae after school on Friday, as has become their routine.  But he could finish the book tonight, and exchange it early.  The library is closed on Mondays, but he could visit her first thing in the morning, and ask her expert advice on what to read next.  It would give him a chance to talk to her, just the two of them, and for a few brief minutes, all of her focus would be on him – not on Bae, not on some other patron, just him.  He could have _her_ , just for a few minutes, not the local celebrity from _Good Morning Storybrooke_ or the kindly librarian who helped his son.  Just the kind, sweet, beautiful woman who looked at him like he was worth something.  He could even let himself pretend it meant something more.

Resolute, and more than a bit proud of his cleverness, he retreats to his office to get the book.  He is just about to sit when the bell above the shop door chimes, and he curses his bad luck.  With a grumble he sets the book down on the desk and returns to the front of the shop, grudgingly ready to deal with whatever soul was desperate enough to come to him in the rain.

Instead, he finds Belle, shaking out an umbrella, her lovely hair slightly damp and sticking to her skin in a way that somehow makes him weak in the knees.

“Hello, Adrian,” she smiles, depositing her umbrella in the rack by the door.

“Belle… hey…” he manages, wondering, again, if he is dreaming.

“Not interrupting anything, am I?” she asks, watching him closely.

“…of course not, no.”  He thought she was nothing more than a lonely dream when she appeared at his door last night, but she turned out to be real then.  He can only hope he is so lucky again.

She smiles brightly, and steps further into the shop.  “Well the, I hope you haven’t eaten yet.”  She holds up a plastic bag, rain droplets still clinging to it.

He shakes his head, not sure what she is getting at.  He understands so very little with her, and she seems to find a new way to baffle and amaze him every time they meet.

She doesn’t quite manage to hold back a laugh, her face lighting up in one of those sweet smiles that somehow doesn’t make him feel stupid.  “I brought us burgers from Granny’s.  I thought we could have lunch together.”

His heart rate instantly doubles, his stomach churning with nerves and anxiety and excitement.  But he’ll do anything to spend even a few moments with her.  “Oh, uh… yes, of course.  Thank you.”

She smiles as he guides her over to the counter, and helps him clear a bit of space as he fetches two bar stools.  He watches her closely as she pulls two Styrofoam boxes from the bag and plucks the two paper cups of iced tea from the cardboard drink holder, setting up their little picnic.  He breathes deeply, trying to steady himself, and as they sit, he finally manages to find his voice.  “Miss French, do you intend to make a habit of appearing at my door unannounced and bearing food?”

She giggles, and if he could hear nothing but that sound for the rest of his life, he would die a happy man.  “I might.”  His heart races again at her words.

As they slowly eat, he tries his best not to let his nerves show, not to act too much like the lost puppy he is, desperate for the nice lady to take him home.  He tries not to overanalyze, ask himself a million questions about why she wants to spend time with _him_ of all people.  He tries not to get his hopes up.

But try as he might – and he thinks he succeeds quite a bit more than he would have expected – those questions still whisper in his mind.  He dreads the answers she might give, but they nag at him all through the meal, and by the time only a few crumbs and too-crispy fries remain in their boxes, he can’t not ask.

“Belle,” he begins slowly, willing his voice to remain even.  “May I ask what prompted this visit?”

She smiles and pokes her last good fry in the puddle of ketchup, seeming to think over her answer.  “I thought you might enjoy the company.  A little of that social interaction you’ve been missing out on.  I hope I wasn’t wrong?”

“No, no,” he assures her quickly.  “I enjoyed it very much.”  _Is that all?_ he wants to plead.

“And honestly…” she continues, slowly, like she’s unsure of herself, like this wonderfully brave woman is actually uncertain of herself.  Then, as quickly as it came, the uncertainty vanishes, and she looks up, her bold blue eyes staring straight into his.  “I really enjoyed spending time with you last night.  I wanted to see you again.”

As much as the words make his heart sing, part of his mind warns him not to heed them, fears that she cannot possibly mean what he wants her to mean – but he wants it, her, so desperately, and he can’t think of any way she might possibly mean it.  And she’s staring at him so intently, open and gentle, and the next thing he knows, he’s on his feet, shuffling the remains of their lunch back into the plastic bag, fussing and muttering nonsense, and he doesn’t recall telling his body to do that, but he can’t particularly think of anything better to do, so he carries on anyway.

When he looks up again, some comment about _a lovely meal_ and _we should do this again sometime_ dying in his throat, she is there, on the same side of the counter, scant inches in front of him, eyes soft and lips looking so much softer.  The corners of her mouth turn up, as if to tell him that he is being very silly.  Then those precious lips part just so, and he feels the gentle pressure of hands on his shoulders, and then the gentle pressure of her lips against his.

His heart flutters in his chest, a surge of warmth flowing through him and making his limbs weak.  He can’t even summon the strength or concentration to put his arms around her.  Her lips are wonderfully warm, and seem to linger on his forever.  When she finally pulls back, her nose brushing against his, the loss chills him, even though he is only a breath away.  She looks up at him with a smile that makes him feel like heaven, and though his mind is reeling and stumbling over itself and trying to understand what it means, some part of him deep down knows it is rather hard to misinterpret a kiss.

She stares up at him, nibbling her bottom lip as if waiting for some response from him, seemingly oblivious to the fact that if she wants him to speak she needs to stop doing that.  Finally, words seem to find their way out of him.  “I was… going to finish my book early.  So I could go to the library in the morning and see you.”

She laughs at that, the sound full of joy, and kisses him again.  This time the kiss is more passionate as she wraps her arms around his shoulders, pressing their bodies together.  His arms wrap around her waist, clutching at her artlessly, desperate to feel more of her soft warmth.  Her tongue swipes against his lower lip until he opens his mouth, an involuntary moan escaping before she slips her tongue inside to play with his.  She seems to know just what to do to drive him out of his mind, and in moments she manages to turn him into putty, whimpering and full of lust and utterly at her mercy.

After what may as well be hours, she pulls back, her cheeks flushed and eyes glazed, like he affects her every bit as much as she affects him.  She stares at his mouth with a little smirk, and presses her hips closer against his.  It’s then that he realizes that he’s hard, and worse, that she can feel every bit of it.  His eyes flare wide and he feels his face burn, and he opens his mouth several times, to form an apology or an explanation, but nothing comes out.

She looks across the shop, and then, to his horror, she steps away and rushes toward the door.  His whole body runs cold, any arousal he felt disappearing, and he curses himself for his stupidity.  “Belle, wait!” he calls after her, seeing everything he’s ever wanted ripped away right before his eyes.  “I’m sorry, I –”  He can’t think of anything to say that might save him.

But instead of flinging the door open and fleeing, she leans against it, turns the lock, and flips the sign to closed.  She grins wickedly at him as she returns to his side, and he has no earthly clue what she is doing until she slips her hand into his, and tugs him toward the curtain that separates the shop from his office.  Once in the back she quickly surveys the space, taking in the three covered windows, before turning in his arms and kissing him fiercely once again.

Finally, his brain catches up with her, and he realizes exactly where this is going.  But as much as the promise of it makes his heart sing, it also makes anxiety twist in the pit of his stomach, and he eases her away with gentle hands on her shoulders.  “Belle, love,” he whispers, the endearment feeling just right.  “I’m not exactly… great at this.”  It’s an understatement, but he can’t bring himself to explain that he has had only a handful of encounters since his wife left, and that he was hardly a stellar lover before that.  He can only look at her pleadingly – the last thing he wants is to disappoint her.

“Do you want to stop?”

“No,” he whispers.

“Good,” she smiles.  “Neither do I.”  She pulls him back down for a kiss, walking them further into the room without breaking contact.  She skillfully maneuvers them around the work benches and tables piled high with antiques, apparently guiding them towards his desk.  Somewhere in the middle, her lips slip away from his, and he opens his eyes to find her staring at something with a dazed smile.

“You have a bed.”

Confused, he turns around to find the old twin day bed in the corner.  He acquired it long ago, and never quite managed to do anything with it, so he found some sheets and blankets to dress it properly.  It came in handy sometimes, on the rare occasion he worked late, or needed to stretch his bad leg.  “Oh… yes, I do.”

“Do you bring all the girls back here, then?” she teases, but the words tug at something desperate in his heart.

“Never,” he swears.  “Only you.”  Never before has he felt quite what he feels for Belle, and he doesn’t want her to believe for a moment that she is anything but the precious treasure that she is.

“I’m glad to hear.”  Then she’s back to kissing him as her fingers pluck open the buttons of his jacket and vest, pushing both off his shoulders.  She guides him backwards toward the bed, until the backs of his knees hit the frame and he flops down.  As he stares up at her, so kind and brave and sweet, he can’t help but feel like a lowly mortal graced by the presence of an angel.

While her fingers work at the knot in his tie, he lets his hands stray lower, over her hips and thighs.  Even through her skirt, her shape and curves are still so very tempting.  His tie discarded, she takes his hands in hers, and moves them to the hem of her blouse.  Too aroused to be embarrassed by the slight tremble in his hands, he clutches the fabric and pulls.  She leans over to help with the angle, and with a bit of coordination, the shirt is gone, leaving a mess of curls framing her brilliant smile.

His heart stutters to a stop as when he finally sees her chest, so much soft, tempting skin, supple breasts covered by simple tan lace.  His mouth goes dry and he can’t seem to breathe, and it only gets worse when she leans forward to work on the buttons of his shirt.  He moves automatically at her gentle prodding, letting her push off the shirt and the tee beneath it.  She takes a half step back once she has him bare from the waist up, taking in his thin frame.  Judging by the faint smile and blush in her cheeks, she is at least not disappointed by what she sees.

She guides his hand again, this time to her hip, resting on her skirt, just below the tempting skin he longs to touch.  He doesn’t dare – she hasn’t told him he can yet, and he doesn’t dare ruin this.  Once she places his hand, she steps closer, loosely draping her arms over his shoulders, and he stares up into her expectant gaze, not sure what he’s supposed to do.  It’s not until his twitching fingers feel the cool metal of a zipper pull that he realizes, and he quickly tugs the zipper down and lets the fabric fall to her feet.

Her panties are simple, blue and conservative, hardly something out of a Victoria’s Secret catalogue, but he has never seen anything so beautiful or tempting – slightly tousled curls, gentle curves, endless expanses of smooth skin.  Somehow, her warm smile is the most tempting of all.

She kneels down at his feet, untying his shoes and setting them neatly off to the side.  She takes her own heels and sets them beside his, and the simple sight of their shoes side by side fills his heart with joy.

That task done, she runs her hands up his legs, closer and closer to his straining erection, and he can’t find it in him to be shy or embarrassed about it.  Her fingertips brush over him as she moves to unzip his trousers, and the feather-light touch is nearly enough to send him over the edge.  He takes deep breaths, focusing on Belle, on her pretty face and hair, and wills himself to keep control, to not disappoint her.  He lifts his hips to help her pull his pants and boxers down, until he is completely bare before her.

She takes his entire form, her expression soft and curious, appraising but not judgmental.  He isn’t entirely sure how he compares to other men, and he can’t help the flare of anxiety her gaze provokes, or the desire to shy away.  But she’s looking at him, and not immediately fleeing, and somehow he knows that no matter how lacking she finds him, she will at least be kind about it when she breaks his heart.  But then she looks up at him with a brilliant, salacious smile, and leans in to kiss his stomach before she pushes him further onto the bed, his back against the wall.

She straddles his lap, a sudden urgency to her movements as she plunges her fingers into his hair and kisses him.  She thrusts her tongue into his mouth, teasing and exploring, and the clutches her close with a moan.  His cock is pressed against her belly, the warmth of her nearly driving him mad. He is so overwhelmed by the competing sensations that he doesn’t realize her hands are moving until her fingertips brush against his nipples, startling a gasp out of him.  She grins at him like she’s won some small victory, and lets he lips trail across his jaw and to his neck as her hands continue moving downward, tracing mesmerizing patterns in his skin.  Then she shifts back just slightly, and his eyes roll back as she wraps her fingers around him.

A strangled groan escapes him at her first slow stroke, his entire body rigid, and she nips at the straining tendons in his neck.  She moves her hands over him slowly, drawing out the pleasure and torturing him all at once.  She somehow manages to trail maddening kisses all up and down his neck at the same time, multitasking effortlessly while he doesn’t even have the presence of mind to touch her back, clinging to her instead of tenderly caressing her arms and back.

She gradually picks up speed, letting her fingers grip him tighter and tighter.  He can’t keep quiet, groaning and panting ad muttering something that’s probably her name, helpless to do anything but submit to the pleasure this wonderful creature in his arms sees fit to give him.  All too soon and not nearly soon enough, something shifts, and he’s clutching her as tight against him as he can, his entire body tense, and she plunders his mouth again, cutting of his cry of her name as he comes, his entire universe focused on her hands.

Her kisses slow, easing him through the tidal wave of pleasure, until he is spent and panting beneath her.  When he manages to open his eyes again and look at her, her face is flushed, eyes heavy with pleasure, lips swollen and dark from kissing, and her own breathing is labored.  He can’t recall ever seeing a more erotic sight, and some of his energy and willpower return to him.  He reaches around her, grateful to discover that he still remembers how to unhook a bra, and she grins approvingly as he takes it off her.  His mind falters when looks down at her breasts, finally seeing them unbound, all smooth skin and tender flesh just begging for his touch.

Hesitantly, he lifts his hands to her breasts, cupping them carefully.  She signs at the touch, and rests her hands on his shoulders, and that gives him the bit of courage he needs.  He lets his thumbs brush over her nipples, emboldened by her faint gasp.  For a few moments, he just touches her, kneading her flesh as gently as he can and marveling at the way she moans and sighs and grips his shoulders tighter.

Soon she kisses him, and pulls him down to lie beside her on the bed.  She quickly discards her panties, leaving her totally bare before him.  He doesn’t have much chance to admire her, though, before she kisses him again and guides his hand between her legs.  He groans loudly when he feels how wet she is, her heat proving that she is as turned on by him as he is by her.  His fingers explore aimlessly for a few moments before she instructs him to push two fingers inside her, her voice a harsh, desperate whisper.  He moves his fingers in and out slowly, curling tem like she tells him to, feeling like he could come again just from the feel of her wet heat against his fingers.

Her own hand joins his, her fingers circling at the little bud of flesh.  She begins slowly but picks up speed, and soon she is rubbing furiously, her whole body moving and writhing beneath him.  All the while he kisses her, trying to return her earlier ministrations and give her even a fraction of the pleasure she gave him.  They continue on for what may as well be hours, her tensing muscles, gasps and moans, and heavenly wet heat all telling him that she wants him, that he’s doing something right.  When she comes, her fingers grip him so tight she’s sure to leave marks, her whole body goes rigid, her screams are swallowed in the kiss, and her muscles clench around his fingers in a way that drives every last coherent thought rom his mind.  He’s never seen anything more beautiful.

When it’s over, she pulls him down beside her, turning on her side to face him.  She rests her head just below his on the pillow, breathing herd.  He wraps his arm around her back, and he can feel her heart fluttering beneath his hand, and _he_ did that.  He kisses her forehead, running his hand through her soft hair for long minutes.

Finally, she lifts her head enough to look at him with a sleepy smile.  “So would you say that was worth the risk?” she asks.

He grins as he remembers their conversation last night.  “I would say so.”

She laughs and snuggles closer, wrapping her arm around him and throwing a leg over his hip.  The warmth of her closeness makes the cooler air of the room more noticeable, and he manages to reach a blanket folded at the foot of the bed and drape it over their bodies.  Then he reaches for a better pillow and arranges it under their heads so she’s more comfortable.  When he’s done fidgeting and rests beside her again, she stares up at him with an expression that he can’t describe, but that makes him feel like a prince.  Then she snuggles back into him, tucking her head beneath his chin and holding him close.


	6. Chapter 6

Early Tuesday morning, Gold muddles around his shop, searching for something to do with himself for the next several hours.  True, he could go to Granny’s and get two cups of coffee now, wait by the front entrance of the library until Belle arrived.  But then again, him waiting on the street corner like a lovesick puppy was sure to draw rather a lot of unwanted attention.  And in any case, it might come off as over-eager.

He makes the mistake of lingering too long in the back office, staring at the little bed where he and Belle made love yesterday, and learns just how eager his body is to relive that memory.  He forces himself to return to the front of the shop and tinker with a broken pocket watch, but his mind still wanders to the last time he saw her.

He and Belle curled under the blankets together, legs tangled up and holding one another.  He never wanted to leave that place, with her warmth and softness surrounding him, running her fingertips along her skin again and again, never tiring of the feel of her.  They talked a bit, about nothing in particular.  She teased him for his shyness, told him she was happy, and glad.  They might have been there for hours, and he would have happily stayed for lifetimes more if his cell phone hadn’t rang.  He only dragged himself away from her to answer it because it was Bae’s ringtone.

As much as he had loved the afternoon rain for the privacy it gave, it also meant that his son could not walk home from school, and needed a ride.  Belle quietly disentangled herself from the sheets as he spoke to his son, finding her clothes and putting them back on one by one.  The sight was so erotic and enticing that he had to turn away, lest he make some very embarrassing sounds on the phone.  He promised to pick up Bae and hung up, and strong arms hugged him around his waist.  He turned in her arms, holding her close and tucking a few stray locks of hair behind her ears.  “I’m sorry I have to go,” he murmured.

“It’s okay,” she smiled, and leaned up for one last lingering kiss.

He racked his brain for something he could do, or even just say, that would show her how happy she made him, how much he longed to see her again and turn this into something serious.

“I could…” he began when the kiss finally broke, fighting down a sudden flash of anxiety.  Somehow he was still afraid of rejection, despite what they had just done.  “I could come by the library tomorrow morning.  Bring you coffee.”

The fear fell away at her brilliant, genuine smile.  “I’d like that,” she said, standing on her toes to give him a peck on the nose.  She slipped on her shoes as she headed towards the front shop, watching him over her shoulder as she went.  “Cream and two sugars.  I’ll see you then.”

And then, he was alone, standing naked in the back of his shop, and it was a whole two minutes before he managed to even begin looking for his socks.  He worried on and off through the night at her willingness to leave after Bae called, that she didn’t try to convince him to stay just a while longer.  He worried she regretted the rather lackluster encounter, but then he would remember her smile and the honesty of her eyes when she agreed to seeing him again, and the anxiety in his chest would ease a little.

So, he putters around the shop with one task or another, dutifully waiting until 10:00 a.m., when the library opened, before even locking up shop and heading to the diner.  He orders two large coffees to go, one just as she requested, using a few well-placed glares to deflect any questions the waitress might want to ask about why he needs two.  He balances the cups carefully, one on top of the other, and makes his way across the street to the library.

He is hopelessly nervous, and feels rather foolish – a grumpy, middle-aged single father with a bad leg, trying to court a beautiful, kind, perfect woman like Belle.  He must be mad, or else so utterly lovestruck that he can’t see anything clearly.  But he forces the thoughts and nerves down, reminds himself that she’s given him so many signals – and explicitly stated – that she enjoys his company and wants to spend time with him.  And, of course, there’s also the part where they had sex yesterday, and she didn’t run screaming for the hills after.  A lifetime of insecurity still plagues him, though, makes him worry with each step that this won’t work out.

He steps through the front door of the library then, and finds her at the front desk helping out a customer.  She looks up at him and smiles, and it _does_ something to him, deep down, just like it has since that first time he saw her on Good Morning Storybrooke.  It gives him hope, or faith, or something he can’t quite name that makes him just a little bit less terrified of what the future holds.  He is still full of fear and worry that this won’t work out, that she’ll grow tired of him, that she’ll leave and he’ll be heartbroken without her.  But at the same time, there’s that little _something_ , and she makes him want to be _better_ , want to be brave and strong and face whatever the future may bring, want to be the best version of himself.  He wants to be _better_ , for her, with her, for himself.  He has never felt quite like that in all his life.

He _wants_ this, wants to make this work and turn it into forever, wants to grow old at her side.  As he watches her now, he resolves himself to _try_ , despite all the fear and anxiety, to do whatever he can to be happy, to enjoy whatever time she’ll give him.  He’ll work for his happiness, do all that he can to create the life that he wants, and be grateful for whatever time he has with her, whether it is only a few brief moments or a lifetime of love.

When she finishes with the customer, they are left alone in the quiet library.  She stands and greets him with a lingering kiss that is all at once passionate and gentle.

“Good morning,” she says when she finally pulls away.

He stares at her, dazed before he finally manages a quiet, “Hey.”

As she pulls up another chair for him, leaning in close as she sips her coffee, he comforts himself with the reminder that he never said he had to be articulate as he worked to be a better man.


End file.
